It's manna from goddamn Heaven
by glass-jars
Summary: A story in which Gabriel owns a bakery/diner/chocolate shop and Sam likes to visit. Uh. Future Sabriel is a guarantee... Also swearing. Oh yeah I forgot to add: This updates rarely and inadequately; It's just a little side thing I do for fun and my interest in it has dwindled a lot, honestly. Only reason it still updates is 'cause I know some people read it.
1. Dude, you listen to Billie Holiday?

"Heeeeeey Hercules! How's it hangin'?"

Sam rolled his eyes with a huff, letting the door jingle closed behind him. "Really? Hercules?" He dropped into a nearby seat, all sparkly gold vinyl.

Gabriel just laughed.

Sam sighed, leaning his head back against the booth seat and looking at the ceiling. The lampshades were made of various appliances—the light above him was a bulb inside of a vintage blender jar. The one in the next booth over was, of all things, a small colander. They were all like that. They were off, though. The only lights on in the diner/bakery/chocolate shop were the white Christmas lights strung up over the windows and along the front of the counter, so the shop was dim. But dim in a soft way.

Gabriel tossed a brown paper bag at him as he continued wiping down tables and humming under his breath.

The bag contained a decently sized apple muffin and a cake donut—sweet but not too much.

The music Gabriel was now singing with was something Sam recognized but only slightly. Something from the sixties, he thought. But... it wasn't any recording he'd ever heard.

"Blue moooooon," Gabriel seemed to be drawing it out just to be obnoxious. "Now I'm no longer alooooone, without a dream in my heaaaart-"

"Gabriel, who's singing this?" Sam cut him off, and Gabriel looked around with a frown.

"It's rude to interrupt people, Samson." He quirked his eyebrow.

Sam smiled apologetically, glancing down at the floor (white and silvery-gold checkered tiling) awkwardly. "Sorry. It's just—I thought this song was sung by some guy from the sixties?" He leaned on his elbows against the slick white tabletop.

Gabriel's expression morphed from one of minor irritation to comical surprise. "Sammy! What kind of sensitive geek are you!?" He spun on his heel, letting the cleaning rag fall into its bucket with a little splash. "This is Billie Holiday!" He grinned an incredulous grin and walked over, sliding into the seat across from Sam. "Are you telling me you thought that The Marcels were the only band to ever do this song? It was written like thirty years before they covered it!" Then he looked pitying, and patted the back of Sam's hand with a smirk. "You deprived boy."

"You listen to Billie Holiday?" Sam smiled, disbelieving, and mentally kicking himself for not saying something a little more... intelligent.

Gabriel rolled his eyes.

"Just because I tend to listen to very energetic and loud pop doesn't mean I can't enjoy some older music once in a while." He shrugged cheerfully. "Besides, who doesn't love a good love ballad from the early twentieth century? Or the mid twentieth century." He paused to pull a candy cane—where did he get a candy cane in August?—from his pocket and added, "Hell! Gimme a love ballad from any year and I'll listen!" He sucked thoughtfully at his candy, which was striped in an alarming shade of blue and pink, and Sam wondered what flavor it could possibly be.

Sam raised his eyebrows, flipping a strand of hair out of his eyes. "So, you have a weakness for love songs?" He looked absolutely baffled, and Gabriel laughed.

Gabriel leaned back, tapping his show lightly against Sam's shin as he said, "Well yeah, I mean—First off they're cheesy as hell, and second off sometimes a nice voice can go a real long way." He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. "If ya know what I mean, Sammy Boy."

Sam rolled his eyes with a snort. He leaned back away from the table, leaving the bag with his food sitting on the corner. "Dude, I think you're losing your touch." At Gabriel's look of confusion—that one where he squinted with his eyebrows pulled together and his head cocked, looking from nowhere in particular to Sam as if he were touched in the head—Sam grinned. "Really. I mean that made no sense. What were you even implying? That I can sing?"

Gabriel crossed his arms and raised one eyebrow imperiously. "No, Sammich."

Sam pursed his lips at the childish nickname. (Dean liked to call it his Bitch Face.)

"I was implying that I was good at singing and—come on do I really have to explain this?" Gabriel spread his arms out wide, imploring. The puppy-dog eyes were on high, and maybe they weren't as strong as Sam's own puppy-dog eyes but they still made him grin. He tilted his head forward to rub the back of his neck and muttered,

"I don't think I really wanna know."

"Yeah you probably don't." Gabriel put his chin down on the table to look up at Sam with a smirk. "But I don't care if you wanna know, Sam my man! I'll tell you—I was implying very heavily that singers with good voices are particularly loud in—"

"Dude!" Sam held up his hand. "No."

Gabriel sighed dramatically, biting off a piece of his candy cane. "Okay, okay!" He feigned sadness, pressing his forehead into the table. There was a long pause—not awkward but not comfortable either—before he mumbled "Don't wanna offend little ol' Samantha's sensibilities, after all." He snorted and Sam flicked his ear, making him flinch away with a whine.

Sam chuckled to himself and stood, grabbing the bag. "Anyway Dean's probably looking for me so I should go." He tried not to laugh when Gabriel pouted up at him and exclaimed,

"What?! Seriously? You've been here for like ten minutes! Or less!" He crossed his arms with a disgusted sound low in his throat, but smiled at Sam nonetheless.

Sam did his best to seem apologetic but Gabriel was reminding him too much of a grumpy little kid, so his lips twitched a little. He patted Gabriel's head—knowing it annoyed the hell out of him—and pushed his way out of the diner with an overly regretful, "Sorry Gabriel! You know my brother, though. Overly attached!" And then he was gone, ducking just a little since the door's to Gabriel's shop were a little low.

Gabriel discreetly acted as though he didn't briefly check out Sam's (admittedly fine) behind as he walked away, and danced over to his cleaning supplies, raising his voice to sing along with the next song to came on shuffle—it was Ke$ha's "Blah Blah Blah" and it was a total reversal from "Blue Moon."

But hey, it's good cleaning music.


	2. I like how you eat all the food I make

Gabriel would be the first to admit that Sam was a damn good specimen of a man. And he would tell you why as embarrassingly as possible. There were always the obvious things like "Tall, strong, sensitive and handsome" that people always seemed to go on about. But there was also the fact that sometimes he looked very smart and refined in slacks and button-down shirts, and other days where he wore flannels and ripped jeans that made him look like a gargantuan hipster. There was also the way he snorted when he was annoyed and trying not to laugh. Not to mention, despite his size he was very considerate and gentle, but also wasn't afraid to show when he was angry.

Sam never let Gabriel think he was a pushover. If Gabriel really got on his nerves he knew right away, whether it was the tightening of the mouth and straightening of the posture or the way he sort of... loomed.

Maybe it wasn't even on purpose.

All Gabriel knew was that he appreciated the way Sam's eyes squinted when he laughed.

Perhaps that was not so good.

Oh well.

Gabriel always saved him a little bit of healthy-ish, sweet but not too sweet pastry or dark chocolate or a sandwich because it made him smile and it wasn't as if the food was going anywhere else once the diner closed. Bakery? Chocolaterie? Who the fuck cared. It was a shop that sold food and it was shiny and glitzy and he loved being able to run a place of his own.

And the name made Sam roll his eyes and snort every time he saw the sign—loudly proclaiming, in golden letters, "Manna from Heaven." There was even a goddamn halo over the H and Gabriel loved it and Sam thought it was terrible. But Gabriel tended to be a fan of terrible. After all, not just any non-terrible man would willingly decorate the black walls of his bakery-cum-diner-cum-candy store with huge gold-framed pictures of multi-colored sheep—pink, blue, luminescent, anything. All strange abstract paintings that were completely unrelated to the rest of the decor. One of the sheep even had three eyes.

Gabriel liked them though. And it seemed the customers liked the food more than they didn't like the paintings because he still had plenty of traffic.

Whatever. He was a damn good cook and he knew it. (And Sam clearly knew it too because sometimes, Gabriel swore, he ate half of his hard work.)


	3. You're so vulgar

"Godzilla! Get your perky ass in here and help me move this table—my muscles took a sick day!"

Sam rolled his eyes as the door closed behind him, tossing his bag on the floor as he went down the hallway of Gabriel's apartment to see him feebly lifting one end of a sturdy wooden dining table. He laughed under his breath as quiet as he could and lifted the other end, practically dragging Gabriel from the kitchen to the living room where the couch and chairs had been pushed against the wall.

Sam let it down with a thud and stretched until his fingertips brushed the ceiling. "Why is your table so big, anyway? It's not like you have company that often." He leaned on the shiny reddish wood curiously.

Gabriel grinned at him. "Oh Samanthaaaa, I gotta have _some_ space to put the chocolate sauce when I'm fucking on the table!"

Sam choked out a strangled, "Dude! _Gross_!" His face was a delightful shade of red as he eyed Gabriel with a scandalized expression.

Gabriel raised his eyebrows. "What's wrong Sam-I-Am? Does sex put you off? Because the last time I checked you weren't exactly Mr. Chastity." He whisked away to the kitchen before Sam could answer.

Sam sighed in frustration. "I never said sex 'put me off!'" He trailed after Gabriel. "You're just so vulgar about it! Some mental images are not welcome, Gabriel!" He tried to act angry and offended, but the way Gabriel was shaking his hips and humming to himself as he rummaged through the fridge with dramatic flourishes was too amusing and—dare he admit it?—charming to stay pissy at.

Gabriel spun around to face him with a shocked expression that made him look like a pin-up model from the fifties. "Moi? Vulgar?! Never!" He tilted his head and settled back into his familiar smirk, and tossed a bottle of champagne at Sam without even bothering to check if he'd catch it before bending over completely in half to open a cupboard by the oven, saying, "Besiiiiides, who wouldn't want the mental image of me, covered in chocolate, on the table, with—"

"No! Nope! Don't wanna hear it Gabe!" Sam kept his eyes glued to the ceiling, ignoring Gabriel's overly-obvious ass wiggling. "I do not need to imagine that!" His lips still quirked a little bit as he tried not smile at the theatrically offended noise that emanated from the floor.

He gave in to curiosity after several seconds of silence and a thump, and looked down.

He promptly burst out laughing.

Gabriel had sprawled himself on the linoleum floor with a hand thrown out above his head and a massively shocked expression, holding a bottle of olive oil in his free hand, with one foot propped against the cupboard. Finally he wailed, "Oh Sammich, you called me Gabe!" He smirked widely.

Sam groaned, rolling his eyes but still smiling. "Seriously? It's just a nickname."

"Well_ yeah_!" Gabriel pulled himself to his feet. "But you never use nicknames. You're like some kind of a morose giraffe." He set the olive oil on the counter next to the stove.

Sam chuckled to himself. "Do you even know what 'morose' means?" He grabbed the frying pan Gabriel was trying to reach (it was in the back of a cupboard that was just barely too high) and put it onto one of the burners for him.

Gabriel elbowed him in the side and grumbled, "Of course I do. I'm not five!"

"Coulda fooled me."

Gabriel's look of pure exaggerated ire was priceless. He fiddled with the stove and walked back to the fridge, purposefully stepping on Sam's feet on his way. Sam almost dropped the champagne but saved it at the last minute, scowling at Gabriel's back.

"Well okay, _Gabe_." He smiled his bitchiest smile. "What does 'morose' mean?"

He heard Gabriel mutter something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like_ It means you're an asshole_. But Gabriel straightened up with an armful of bell peppers and cheese, turned to Sam and said, "It means you're... like... serious. Okay?" He raised his eyebrows, shutting the fridge door with his foot.

Sam laughed. _Close enough_.

And then Gabriel's phone rang. Or at least... Same thought it was his phone. Because the sound that drifted from the shorter man's pocket wasn't a ring tone. No, it was the sound of Clinton saying "I did not have sexual relations with that woman." He snorted and set the champagne by the olive oil as Gabriel snapped the phone to his ear.

"Greetings! This is Gabriel, your resident nympho. How may I help you?" He leaned on the edge of the oven, smiling over his shoulder at Sam. Then he straightened up cheerfully. "Pam! You almost here?" He waggled his eyebrows at Sam, who sighed and glared at the ceiling. "Great! Tell him to suck it up and buckle his seat belt." Whatever Pamela said made Gabriel snort violently, and cough. "Yeah, Pam. Seeya." He slipped his phone back into his pocket and turned around. At Sam's questioning expression, he laughed and said, "Dear baby brother Cas is afraid to get in the car because Dean drives like a maniac."

Sam shook his head. "I don't blame him." He frowned. "God I hope I have a chance to protect my ass before Pam gets here."

Gabriel let out a short bark of laughter. "There's no such thing as a protected ass around that woman." He set to work slicing his vegetables and arranging things on the counter as the pan preheated and a pot of water boiled. He was making spaghetti.

Sam shrugged. "Yeah, well... I can hope."

"You better pray 'cause hope is all you got."


	4. Thanks for inviting us

Sam flinched when Pam slapped his ass on her way to the table—and he really didn't know how she found it in one try every time even though she was blind—and rolled his eyes at Dean, who giggled to himself. Cas hovered uncomfortably in the doorway, and Gabriel whistled at him as if he were calling a dog, gesturing toward the kitchen with a nod of his head. "C'mon baby bro, help me out with the pie!"

Dean snapped his eyes toward Gabriel with an intense expression, barely watching Cas out of the corner of his eye and mostly looking at the oven. "Pie?" He wiped his palms on his jeans with a strange glint in his eye. "What kind?" He swallowed.

Sam snickered at him under his breath. Dean flipped him off behind his back.

"Why, it's a classic American apple pie, Deano!" Gabriel smirked, wiping his hands on a towel. Castiel was behind him setting the pie on a cooling rack on the counter.

Dean grinned. "Awesome."

Sam rubbed a hand across his face. There was not going to be a single slice left by the time the night ended.

"Hey boys! Hurry your sweet asses up and get the blind woman some food!" Pam waved her arm irritably. "I'm damn hungry, and Gabriel won't let me in the kitchen because that's where he keeps his booze!" She sneered. "Spoilsport."

Gabriel laughed—full and from the chest. It was a nice laugh. "You'd drink me out of house and home, woman!" He grabbed a bowl anyway, and brought it to her personally, receiving a pinch on the cheek in return.

They all ate, drank, and were merry.

The pie was a hit, in that Dean ate almost 3 pieces in the span of twenty minutes and would have eaten more if Gabriel hadn't whisked it away into the refrigerator.

They all parted on good terms, and Sam lingered a little longer than everyone else to help Gabriel clean up and put away the food.

Gabriel was washing dishes, humming what sounded like Christina Perry's "Distance" under his breath, and Sam snorted. He would never quite understand the variety of music that man listened to. He wrapped up the last of the meal in plastic wrap, and turned from the fridge to say, "Hey, thanks for having everyone over." He flashed one of his most charming smiles at Gabriel's back.

Gabriel turned with a raised eyebrow and arms dripping with soapy water. "No problem, Samwich." He grinned. "It's a lot of fun to have people over, and just... have a good time." He dried his arms on a garishly patterned dishtowel. "And you know how I love cooking for humanoid vacuum cleaners such as your brother."

Sam laughed. "Yeah. Yeah." He pushed some hair behind his ear. "Well, I think I'm gonna go now. I'll see you later?"

Gabriel nodded. "Of course. I'm workin' on a new product so you gotta test its edibility soon!"

"Awesome. Bye." Sammy waved, heading to the hall to grab his coat and leave.

"Bye." Gabe watched him for a minute, then quickly made his way to the door before Sam could close it. A little breeze ruffled his hair and he licked his lips. "Hey, Sam?"

Sam looked down at him, quirking his head curiously. "Yeah?"

"Just... be careful. Never know if someone'll run a red light or something." Gabriel smiled to let Sam know he wasn't being all sentimental and paranoid. Or maybe that was to convince himself.

Sam rolled his eyes with a huff of laughter. "I'll be fine, Gabe. Bye." He clapped Gabriel on the shoulder, and made his way down the stairs. Gabriel smiled after him.

He wouldn't ever admit it, but he kinda liked the way that nickname sounded coming from Sam.


	5. Get inside my fucking gold Trans Am

Apple muffins with cheese baked into the top.

Sounded a little strange, but boy did they smell amazing.

"Adios Bitchachos!"

Sam blinked. "Wai—what?" He looked up at Gabriel from where he sat studying, tapping his pencil on the tabletop. Castiel stood behind the register and looked no less baffled as Gabriel swept out from the kitchen into the middle of the diner.

Gabriel waggled his eyebrow. "I've taken the muffins out of the oven." He spun to face Cas. "Put them away in twenty minutes." Then he shoved Dean against the wall to slide into the booth across from Sam. Dean grumbled but pulled his slice of pie with him to make room. Gabriel laid his hands out flat on the table. "And _you_."

Sam shifted uncomfortably.

"I've got plans for you, Samerella." Gabriel smirked. He popped back up out of the seat, latching onto Sam and dragging him to his feet. "Let's go!"

"Wait—Gabe!" Sam tried to tug away, but the fingers around his wrist were shockingly strong. "Gabriel! What are you talking about?"

Gabriel just laughed and herded him out the diner's doors, and to the back where a plain gold Trans Am sat horizontally across its parking space. He stopped and finally let Sam loose to unlock the doors. He glanced up at Sam with a grin and said, "We're goin' out!"

Sam pursed his lips and crossed his arms. "Gabriel, why are we going out and where are we going?" He raised his eyebrows, unimpressed.

Gabriel rolled his eyes. "You don't need to be hangin' with your sexually frustrated brother and stress about finals at the same time!" He slid into the driver's seat, and gestured to the other side. Sam looked at the car skeptically. It wasn't particularly large.

He rubbed a hand over his face and ducked in. Definitely not a big enough car. But he could fit. Sort of.

"Anyway." Gabe continued, starting the car. He slapped the red steering wheel with a smile. "I thought we could go out, get your mind off of studying and your douchey brother, get some drinks or something." He pulled out of the driveway, gnawing on his lip momentarily as he concentrated on not crashing into the dumpster. "Whaddya say?"

Sam snorted. "Well it's too late to say 'no' now, so... Okay?" He leaned back in his seat, messing with the levers to get as much leg room as he could in such a small car. (A lot smaller than the Impala at least, and definitely smaller than Sam's own dorky hybrid SUV.)

Gabe grinned widely at him, and they were off down the road, with the radio spitting out Depeche Mode.

Sam was still disappointed that he wouldn't be able to try one of the apple and cheese muffins. He should have asked Gabe for one on the way out.

Oh well.


	6. Your body is slammin'

"If God has a master plan that only he understands, I hope it's your eyes he's seeing through..." Gabe trailed off from his (surprisingly good) singing to point across Sam, to a chic looking bar with a chrome sign and a solid black facade. "There we go!" He pulled around the back to employee parking, and parked like a normal person—not diagonally or anything. Sam burst out of the car, grateful to be able to stretch out in the chill air. Gabriel laughed at him and locked the car, then dragged him back around to the front. It was early, so there weren't really any people even once they got inside.

A spacious, dark place with blue lighting in subtle places and a lot of black and silver.

"Yo! Balthazar!" Gabriel waved his hand as he forcibly dragged Sam over to the unnecessarily shiny bar. "What's up?"

A slender man with tousled blonde hair and a black v-neck that rivaled even Sam's most figure-flattering shirts turned to face them with an exasperated expression. "Well hello there, Gabriel." He leaned his elbows on the bar. "What can I get for you and your moose? The usual?"

Gabriel nodded.

Sam was too busy trying to place the man's accent to immediately realize what he'd just been called. But Gabriel's snort of laughter made him frown deeply. Another nickname for the books. Great. He rolled his eyes and nudged Gabriel with his elbow.

Gabriel looked questioningly up at him.

"Who is that? I feel like I've seen him before." Sam brushed some hair out of his eyes, curious.

Gabriel grinned. He settled in a stool, gesturing for Sam to do the same. "That's our brother, Balthazar. He dropped off some wine a few Christmases ago. Probably saw him then." He drummed his fingertips on the bar top.

Sam scrunched his face up. "How many brothers do you _have_?" He tried not to slouch but the bar was not exactly much higher than the stool.

"A lot." Gabriel raised his eyebrows emphatically. "And the reason I say 'a lot' and not an exact number is because right now I can't be bothered to remember just how many siblings I have." He chuckled to himself, and looked up at Sam thoughtfully. "Yanno?"

Sam smiled with a little huff of laughter. "Not really, no." He tapped his heel against the leg of his stool, and sat up straighter, rolling his shoulders. "Anyway, why'd you bring me to such a swanky place? 'Cause your brother's a bartender?"

Gabriel shook his head. "He owns the place. Likes to tend to the bars when he's not busy. I just like it here. Never really too busy, and pretty easy on the eyes."

"Here you go, boys!" Balthazar smirked at Sam, eyes wandering a little bit. He set their drinks in front of them, winked at Gabe, and sauntered off to flirt with a well-endowed redhead.

Sam's eyebrows crinkled as he looked down at Gabriel inquisitively, looking like he wanted to say something. He closed his mouth, and then, "What just happened?"

Gabriel snorted into his Shirley Temple Black, grinning wolfishly. "He thinks you're hot." He leered at Sam a little bit, giving him an appreciative once-over. "And he's not wrong. But he _is_ taken." He tapped a finger on the bar.

Sam rolled his eyes. "I'm not fucking blind, Gabriel." He sniffed his own drink curiously. "I mean, the wink. What was that?" He sipped at the cocktail apprehensively, and found that he kind of liked it—fizzy and interesting. Not that he'd ever tell Dean that.

Gabriel feigned surprise. "Oh, that?" He shook his head with a small smile. "Probably encouraging me or something. That's the kinda wink that says 'I hope you get laid tonight.'"

Sam coughed violently into his drink. "_Dude_!" He stared incredulously at Gabe. "Seriously?"

"Hey now, I didn't say it was gonna happen! He doesn't remember you from Christmas so he probably thinks you're just some guy I picked up!" Gabriel spread his hands wide, an innocent expression on his face.

Sam cleared his throat with a sigh and half of a smile. "Okay, okay." He downed half of his Shirley Temple to avoid eye contact. Fidgeted with his rolled-up sleeve. Glanced back at Gabriel.

"I'm not that hot, though..." His forehead creased in that adorable way it did when he was worried, and he was focused on the rim of his glass.

Gabriel couldn't help the bark of laughter that burst from his throat. He grinned wildly and tried to hide it behind his hand with little success.

Sam gave him the hardcore Puppy Dog Eyes.

"You, my friend, are most definitely hot." Gabriel raised both his eyebrows and gave Sam a once-over. "Your body is slammin', your hair is—dare I say it—beautiful, and your face ain't so bad either." He leaned in conspiratorially, and whispered, "The ladies would drop dead for those dimples if you'd just smile more often." He smirked. "Your arms are really nice, too. Man I am jealous of those arms." He leaned back in his stool. Frowned at the ceiling, like he was thinking very hard. "Not to mention your ass. It's Pam's favorite."

Sam snorted. "I'd noticed." He smiled somewhat to himself. "Anyone else you know who'd drop dead for my dimples?" He grinned flirtatiously back at Gabriel, who quirked an eyebrow.

"Now that's not playin' fair, Samuel Winchester." Gabriel pouted. "As if there's anyone alive who wouldn't be charmed by your innocent smile!" He pretended to be offended but really only seemed mildly embarrassed.

Sam flicked Gabe's ear and returned to his drink. "Sure, sure." He couldn't help but smile a little bit though.


	7. Big brothers suck

"Hey, Sammy, how'd your _date_ go?" Dean pulled his feet down from the coffee table, picking at his slice of pie. He made a lewd gesture. "Y'get lucky?"

Sam scoffed. "Dude, gross." He shoved Dean aside to sit beside him on the couch and flicked on the television. Nothing really good was on, but he settled for some Scrubs rerun. "It wasn't a date, either. We just got some drinks." He gave his older brother's shoulder a light punch.

Dean shook his head, laughed, and took a tremendous bite of his pie. "Sure, sure, keep tellin' yourself that Sam." He was blessedly silent for a few seconds, chewing, before he grinned wide again and said, "Gabe's definitely got the hots for you though."

Sam blushed. He elbowed Dean and turned up the volume. Dean cackled at him.

"You're such a little girl, Samantha!" Dean leered at Sam, and set his now-empty plate down on the coffee table. "Like a blushin' virgin!"

"Shut up, dickweed."

Dean smirked. "Bitch."

"Jerk." Sam ground the heel of his socked foot against Dean's toes. Dean swore and shoved him away with a grumble.

They fell into a begrudging silence and watched TV together, an unspoken agreement that as long as Dean didn't bring up Gabriel, Sam wouldn't beat him up. Though it was fair to say that if they got in a real fight, they'd both probably end up equally bruised and bloody.


	8. Do I make you feel funny?

Gabriel grabbed Sam's elbow firmly, and looked up at him. His expression was much more serious than usual, so when he tugged, Sam followed him, until they sat down at one of the empty tables in the center of the diner—the only one with the chairs still on the ground. He licked the corner of his mouth and frowned. "Is something wrong, Gabriel?" He paused. "I didn't like... use the wrong rag to wash a table or anything, did I?" He smiled uneasily.

Gabe snorted. "Nah, kiddo. You were a big help." He leaned forward somewhat, resting his elbows on the tabletop and resting his chin in his hands. "I just... wanted to ask you something."

Sam shifted in his seat. (He was a bit large for it.) "Yeah?"

Gabriel rubbed his forehead. "I just wanted to ask you..." He looked to be biting the inside of his cheek. "Well, does it make you uncomfortable when I like... flirt?" He grimaced.

"What?" Sam flipped a strand of hair out of his eyes.

Gabriel leaned back, scraping his palms down the front of his jeans with an awkward half-smile. "Well, you know. Flirting is like my natural setting, but I realized the other day that maybe... It might make you feel a little uncomfortable and I don't want to... do that." He pulled a face.

Sam blinked at Gabriel. He hunched forward. "What—no. Gabe." He held up his hands. "It's fine, I swear. I think it's... fun." He gave him a little crooked grin, dimply and sincere.

Gabriel beamed back at him. "Well I know you're not lying because you're a terrible liar so..." He clapped his hands together. "Awesome! Just checking." He stood up, and grabbed his chair to swing it upside down onto the table. Sam followed suit, and Gabriel couldn't help but focus on the way he just sorta... gripped the chair in one hand and clunked it down with ease. "God your arms are nice."

Sam rolled his eyes (And was he blushing? Oh he_ was_...) and crossed his arms. Gabriel winked. "Hey. You said it doesn't bother you. No holds barred, Sammich." He waggled his eyebrows.

"Oh God." Sam's voice came out as a soft mutter, accompanied by another eye roll, but he had a big smile on and he followed Gabe out of the diner humming contently. Gabriel tried to keep his massive grin in check. Flirting with Sam Winchester was like _breathing_ it came so easy. Didn't help that Sam, on occasion, flirted right back without even realizing.

Gabriel smacked Sam's ass on his way to the Trans Am. Sam yelped.

"Goddammit Gabriel, are you just gonna be another Pamela now?!"

Gabriel just winked and started the car.


	9. Let's have dinner

"I swear to God I am going to _hurt_ you, Gabriel."

Gabriel pulled his most innocent, angelic face. "Why, Deano, I have no idea what on earth you're talking about."

Dean scowled. He pointed his finger at Gabe with a glare. "You put _laxatives_ in my pie." He crossed his arms with a grumble.

Gabriel gaped. "Who, me?! I'm offended!" He dragged his mop across the tiles, narrowly avoiding Dean's shoes with a smirk. He spun around, and made sure the mop splashed into the bucket, and said, "It was probably the natural digestive fiber of the apples, Dean."

"Uh-huh." Dean's eyebrows twitched up. "Sure." He rolled his eyes before shouting, "Sammy! Tell your boyfriend not to prank me! I'm going to pick up Cas!" He was out of the shop in a flash.

"Not my boyfriend..." Sam's voice trailed off into a mumble. He sighed, and snapped his text book shut. He smiled. "You really laced his pie with Ex-Lax?" He reached for his muffin, but stopped, and squinted suspiciously at Gabe.

Gabriel laughed loud. He scooted his mop to the side and bounced over to slide into the booth across from Sam. "C'mon, Cupcake! He had it coming. You're safe." He winked. "I like you too much."

Sam rolled his eyes and took a bite.

"Whaddya say we go on a date tonight?"

Sam choked on his muffin. He blushed and stared at Gabriel. "Tonight...?"

"Pleeeeeeaaaase?" Gabriel fluttered his eyelashes.

Sam chuckled, still red but not dying a horrible death by muffin asphyxiation. He took a moment to tilt his head and tap a finger against his chin with a hum. Finally he grinned and said, "Pick me up at seven."

Gabriel punched the air with a triumphant crow. Sam rolled his eyes yet again. (One of these days he was gonna sprain his eyeballs.)


	10. It's only a date (end)

(Tired of this fic enough that I just want it to be done. This is the last chapter.)

"Thank you for not making me sing." Sam stirred his Bloody Mary with a smile at Gabriel. Gabe swiveled on the bar stool and grinned wide.

"What, you get stage fright?" He waggled his eyebrows.

Sam sighed. "No." He sipped from his drink. "Okay, yeah. A little." He shrugged. Another sip.

Gabe smirked. "You're nervous, aren't you?"

Sam rolled his eyes.

Gabriel reached out to squeeze Sam's shoulder and his smile softened. He leaned close. "Listen, Samwich." He tapped Sam's jaw, so that Sam looked him in the eyes, and said, "It's just like any other time we're together, only officially called a date. Nothing actually different." He leaned his elbow on the bar. "Okay?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah, I guess." He shrugged again, with just one shoulder, and gnawed on his celery stalk.

Gabriel patted his shoulder. "You don't like the bar, I'm guessing." He cocked an eyebrow, with a more serious but still flirtatious expression. Pulled his hand away to straighten his collar.

"Kinda." Sam snorted, and smiled at Gabriel. "Never really liked dates at bars, or even just going to a bar after a date. The crowds and the alcohol and just... It all kinda puts me off. Reminds me of when my dad would come home drunk."

Gabe gave a sage nod, and grabbed Sam's hand. "Let's ditch this popsicle stand, then. We can go to my place and watch a movie, or walk at the park, or go to a restaurant. Anything you want."

His grin set Sam at ease, and Sam laced their fingers together before leaning over to give him a peck on the cheek. "Movie at your place?" He slipped out of the bar stool and slapped down some money—enough to cover for both of them but not really a specific amount. Gabriel smirked and let Sam lead him out of the bar. They walked back to Manna from Heaven, since it was nearby, and took the outside steps to get into Gabriel's apartment.

The dog lay fast asleep on the couch, so Gabriel put a finger to his lips and snatched his laptop from the kitchen table. "You can stay in your clothes or whatever, but I'm getting into pajamas." He started his computer and left it on the bed with the DVD of Constantine beside it on the sheets, while he stood in front of his wardrobe and shed his layers and slipped into, of all things, white silk pajamas. Sam laughed at him. Gabriel winked, and plopped down beside him to start the movie.

Halfway through, Gabe fell asleep against Sam's shoulder. Sam smiled, and moved him to lay down more comfortably. He stripped down to his t-shirt and underwear and figured that was good enough, before climbing in sleepy and bold beside Gabriel, and wrapped his arms around him.

Gabe shifted in his sleep and cuddled closer.

Sam grinned, and slept with the smell of chocolate and liquor in his nose.


End file.
